I Hate Everything About You
by Aleka
Summary: Chris' father is dead. He thinks his days and nights of fear and failure are over, until his mom announces she is remarrying. What will his new dad be like? And, where does sibling rivalry end, and where does love begin?
1. Reliving

__

Mom, my dad's dead.

Chris Chambers covered his face with his arm as he lay in bed, trying so hard to close out the sound of his brother's tearful slumber in the next bed. Mostly though, he wished he could just stop thinking and start dreaming.

His dreams were deeper and brighter now that his dad was gone. He could snuggle down under his wool blanket and fall into a complete, restful sleep. He didn't have to lie awake, too scared to close his eyes, waiting for his father to stumble into the tiny bedroom and take out his alcohol induced rage on Chris or one of his siblings. The North Star wasn't just a reminder of ignored wishes anymore. Now he could look up at the starlit sky and _thank God._

So why couldn't he stop reliving that one, bittersweet evening in his mind tonight? His thoughts followed his memories, remembering how he came home from a movie with Gordie to a silent house. No radio, no slurred commands or expletives, no sound of another can of beer being cracked open. Nothing. He ventured into the house praying to God, to all the saints and angels and everyone else in Heaven to _please_ let his mom be okay. _Please make her okay, God, don't let him hurt her this time._ Then he remembered seeing the back of his dad sitting in his stupid, ugly easy chair, a cigarette burned to ash between his fingers and his arm splayed out limply across the side of the chair. He remembered cursing God then--God couldn't be as great as they wrote, not when He allowed this drunk slob to live so he could just sit and not be sorry, ever, at _all_...Despite the fright shaking his knees, Chris heard himself whisper _Dad?_ in his memory, and still, after all the times he'd played this moment over and over in his head, his father never answered. Chris watched himself cross the room and kneel at his father's feet, terrified--

"Chris?"

The sudden intrusion of the voice and the garish light penetrating his welcomingly dark bedroom caused Chris to jerk into an upright sitting position. "Mama?" he whispered, just now noticing the film of sweat on his forehead.

"Oh good, you're still awake," his mother said softly, smiling. "I was hoping you would be."

"What's wrong?" he demanded, tousling his short, sandy brown hair.

"Nothing, nothing," she assured him, resting her slight figure against the door frame. "I wanted to ask you the same thing though. What's wrong?"

"Huh?"

"You barely said anything tonight when Liam and I made the announcement."

Chris sighed. "Well, congratulations, you know, I just, it was a bit of a shock--"

"I know," she intervened. "But you know money is really tight, Chris. Tighter now than even back when your father was blowing it all on booze. And Liam is such an amazing man."

"Is he?" Chris interrupted.

"Yes, Chris," she said firmly, offended and taken aback by her son's uncharacteristic skepticism. "He's great. You don't know him, I guess."

"I guess not," he replied flippantly. "It's hard to get to know a guy you've only met on two occasions. I mean, gosh, I don't even know what he likes to do for fun, or what brand of _beer_ he prefers."

"Enough," she snapped. "Don't you start comparing him to your dad. It's not fair. I just want your approval, Chris. It means the world to me."

"If you want approval for getting used up by some man again, you've come to the wrong son." He looked at her significantly, loving her with no remorse. But he melted when he saw her heart plainly on her face. It didn't take much to hurt her these days. "I'm sorry."

She nodded, her chin held squarely. "Get some sleep. Oh, and um, it would be nice if you invited your friend Gordon to the wedding. It'll just be a small gathering, but I know he's practically like a brother to you, so--"

"Okay, Mom. Thanks. I'll ask him."

She smiled faintly, and then looked sad, as if being forced to surrender as she gently closed the creaking door shut behind her.

Chris eased himself back down, sinking into the soft comfort of his sheets and pillow. He brought the blanket up to his chin, trying not to think of his mother's downcast eyes shadowed by her dark, rustled hair as she left him alone. God, she made him sad, but she could be so frustrating.

No wonder he couldn't stop thinking about his abusive father tonight. With news of a new man picking up where Mr. Chambers left off, Chris wasn't so sure that the whole hell wouldn't start all over again.


	2. Jumping

Chris knocked on Gordie's bedroom door briefly before he went in regardless of the lack of reply. "Gordie? You alive? Something smells like burning."

"I'm under my bed," Gordie's familiarly soft voice called out.

"Oh yeah?" Chris acknowledged. "Smoking out the boogey man?"

"Nope."

"Okay. Then I will ask. What are you doing under there?"

"I'm organizing my scrap paper. Earlier however, I was roasting marshmallows with matches, which should explain the burning smell."

Shrugging, Chris decided that he should not question his eccentric friend. He opted to jump on the bed instead.

"CHRIS! FRAAARG!!! What are you DOING?!?!"

"Jumping! Wee!"

"WHY?!"

"Because you're under the object I'm jumping on!"

"Stop it you asshole!"

"No! Come join me if you want to live!"

Muttering curses, Gordie resentfully scurried out from under his perfectly made bed. "I'm gonna flatten you and stuff you in a blender. Then I'm gonna laugh really loud as I watch your body parts spin around at top notch but I'll be pissed if you blow the lid off and spray your guts all over my kitchen. But then I will sue you. So it's a win-win situation for me."

"My, my. What angst," Chris observed, still bouncing. "Are you gonna jump with me or are you just gonna stand there looking like a dork who looks stupid?"

Gordie considered his options. Finally, he climbed up on the bed, even though he was sure Chris' weight advantage would send Gordie careening to his death. He hopped around anyway. Thank God his dad wasn't home, in case they bounced too hard and the bed fell through the floor into the living room below.

"So Christopher," Gordie yelled above the creaking of the springs. "What brings your obnoxious self over here?"

They both giggled as Chris hit his head on the roof. Once he recovered, he yelled back, "I need to invite you to something."

"I refuse to be your prom date," Gordie told him adamantly. "But kudos to you for planning ahead."

"Thank you," Chris laughed. "Actually, I need you to grace us with your appearance at the wedding."

"A _wedding_? SICK! Even _more_ no!"

"My _mom's _wedding, dick licker."

"Okay, you're just getting weirder and weirder," Gordie said. "I'm sorry Chris, but I am not marrying your mother. I will not be your new daddy."

Chris whaled a pillow against Gordie's head, causing him to flop backwards. Gordie decided to play it safe from now on and just stay seated on the bed. "Okay, since you're retarded, I'm going to talk real slow."

Gordie nodded in understanding.

"My mother, is getting, married. To some guy. His name. Is Liam, and he is, marrying my mom. My mom, said, I could, invite you, but I don't know why she would want a talking shit for brains moron to share in on her special day. Clear?"

Gordie's eyes were wide with surprised interest. "Jeez, Chris, she's getting married already? Didn't...didn't your dad...wasn't it just...?"

"Eight months ago last week," Chris confirmed, as distanced from emotion as if he were talking about a bank loan instead of his dead father. "Yeah, it's pretty soon. I'm not exactly jumping for joy--"

"You're jumping on my bed..."

"Not for _joy_," Chris said. "Anyway, she explained that we're just short on money--moreso than usual, which is hard to believe, but it's true. And this Liam character seems to be okay, I guess."

"But you don't like him," Gordie said, raising an eyebrow as he studied his best friend's face.

"Man," Chris laughed after his shock subsided. "I don't know how you just _know_ everything that goes on in my head. It's a very complex region, my mind is. I don't understand how you read it with such ease."

"I'm a freaky deaky alien in disguise. You seemed like a good experimental brain candidate when I met you. It's the only reason why we're still friends."

"You've been an alien since kindergarten?"

"Yes, does this come as a surprise?"

"No, it's actually quite reassuring, as it explains a lot." He smirked at Gordie, with closely guarded affection for his friend glittering in his eyes. "I don't really know him, you know?"

"And so you don't know how he'll treat your mom," Gordie summed up.

"You're doing it again, Gordie," Chris growled. "Stop picking apart my innermost thoughts."

"That thought occurred to me too, actually," Gordie said indifferently. "I'm sure he's fine, Chris. Your mom won't make the same mistake twice for you guys. She's a smart woman."

"She's also a desperate woman," Chris muttered.

"She's not going to watch it happen again, Chris," Gordie told him quietly. "I know it must have felt like hell knowing he was hurting her and there wasn't a damn thing you could do to help. But think of how she must have felt to see her little boy broken because of a stranger she used to know that lived in her home."

There was a long silence. Gordie watched Chris as he slowly sat beside him, keeping his eyes on a random place on the wall. Finally, Chris looked up at him with a distracted but genuine smile. "Please don't refer to be as a 'little boy.' You sound like a pedophile."

"I'll take that suggestion and file it," Gordie said solemnly. "Anyway, what _do_ you know about this guy?"

"Uh, that he owns that diner downtown so he's loaded. It's how he met my mom." He looked up at the ceiling, thinking. "She...she really smiles now."

"Because of him?"

"I think so," he replied.

"Well, that's good, then," Gordie said, but getting a strange, panicky feeling in his stomach as Chris' silent reflection filled the room uncomfortably. "Uh, does he have kids?"

"Two kids and a dog," he said with an ironic grin.

"Oh God, it's the Brady Bunch," Gordie exclaimed, aghast.

"Tell me about it," he mumbled, shaking his head.

"Maybe they'll have an Alice."

"What are you trying to say?" he demanded. "Are you suggesting that I have a torrid love affair with their middle-aged housekeeper?"

"No."

"Then why are you leering?"

"Well...it _would_ make it exciting."

"Oh, yeah, real exciting, Gordie," he said in disgust. "I'd have to recharge her batteries every ten minutes."

"Every TEN minutes?" Gordie shrilled. "You couldn't last ten minutes if your life DEPENDED on it! She'd be like 'Here, Chris, let me unbutton your pants' and you'd be like 'Go for it baby--oops sorry Alice! All over your checkered apron, too!' And she'd be like 'It's okay, just let me go get my mop.'"

Chris scowl dissolved into laughter as he shoved Gordie off the bed. He felt better. No matter what his family turned into, at leas he'd always have a friend.


	3. Waiting

"Holy hel--Good grief, is what I mean!" William Sullivan stared in horror at his son, sixteen-year-old Nathaniel.

"What?" Nathaniel asked blankly, scarfing down on a piece of toast.

"Your _hair..._"

"Yeah, do you like it?" Nathaniel grinned with pride, running a hand through his incredibly large mop of blond curls. "I put curlers in over night. Kind of a bitch to sleep on though...but hey, you can't put a price on beauty."

Liam could do nothing but sputter.

"Speechless, huh?" The boy picked up a spoon to check out his reflection in. "I just look stunning today, don't I--HOLY HELL!" He dropped the spoon like it was a flame-thrower gone awry as soon as he saw his reflection in the polished silver. "DAAAAAaaaaadd!! Why didn't you tell me I look like an angry serial killer clown?!"

Liam still could find no words.

"God, Dad," he cried, throwing his hands up in the air, trying to hide his misfortunate hair. He ran from the kitchen, then raced up the stairs, skipping every other stair on the way to his sister's room. He burst into the second room on the right, standing in the doorway expectantly.

Leah swiveled in her seat at the vanity table. She was sitting in the lotus position with her long, dark blond hair swept up in some kind of twist. "Did you break your hand masturbating again or did you just forget to knock, Nathan?"

Nathaniel pointed wildly to his head.

"I'll have to re-teach you," she said. "Because I know you would have suffered psychological trauma if you'd barged in on me in a moment of nudity."

"Leah! I need your help!"

"And I want you to leave me the hell alone, but unfortunately both of our wants and needs seem out of the question."

Nathaniel gaped at his older sister.

Suddenly, she squinted at him. "Has it occurred to you that if a bird were to fly into your hair, it would never find its way out?"

"FIX IT!" he pleaded.

She sighed, unfolding her legs and rising from her seat. "Sit," she ordered.

Gratefully, he sank into the chair, staring in fright at his image in the vanity mirror.

"How did this happen?" she asked calmly, not because she cared, but because his obvious panicked state amused her.

"I have reason to be believe you were working your black magic again."

"Your witch jokes grow tiresome, Nathan." She ran a dampened comb through his hair. "Oh my God. I think I heard a snap. You broke my comb."

"No, that was my neck," he growled. "I certainly hope you're not this rough with the unsuspecting victims from whom you steal virginities, or else you're going to get a lot of requested refunds, you praying mantis."

"Okay, get out of my room," she said, struggling to remove the comb from his tangle of curls.

"What did I do?" he cried.

"It's been about 45 seconds since you cast a shadow in my doorway, and you've already made witchcraft, hooker, and insect jokes about me. That merits as your excuse to get out."

"You told me that my witch jokes were getting old, so I had to try out some new material," he protested. "God, make up your bloody mind already." He winced as she yanked his head back brutally in what appeared to be an attempt to free her comb. "Okay, okay, I will not make another comment, unless it is kind."

"Actually, you are not to speak henceforth."

"I can do that." He caught her glare and slouched down in a pout. "Sorry."

Leah went into her bathroom, disappeared for a few moments, and then finally came back armed with a spray bottle. She immediately set to work spraying down his hair.

"Can you please use a little _discretion_ with that thing?" he demanded.

"Your silence didn't even last for a minute."

"Well, I apologize, but Dad's not going to be happy if I show up to meet his fiancé in soaking wet clothes. This _is_ what I'm wearing today."

She hesitated. "That's what you're wearing today?"

"This is what I'm wearing today," he repeated, looking down at his uneven cut-off shorts and his shrunken white T-shirt.

"Umm...may I present a statement regarding the shorts?"

"I _like_ these shorts," he snapped, his face softening despite the defensiveness in his voice. "...Mom...she was cutting them for me, but then she started not feeling good, so I tried to finish them. When she saw what I had done to them, I didn't think she'd ever stop laughing."

Leah nodded, feeling the formerly familiar lump rise in her throat. She hadn't cried over her mother for six years. What was wrong with her now? "So they, uh...like, remind you..."

"Of Mom's laugh," he finished. "It was like, silvery."

She nodded again, carefully wetting down the rest of his hair. When the tears that had threatened finally retreated, she asked, "Ahh, so, what do you think of Dad and this woman? Not that we have much say in the matter, of course."

He shrugged. "Not much, I guess. I don't know her. I remember there was a lot of talk around town when her husband drank himself to death. That was when we first moved here. But anyway, I don't know anything about _her."_

"Well, she makes Dad happy, so don't do anything stupid today," Leah warned him, the condescending older sister tone returning to her low, perpetually sultry voice.

"Stupid?" he laughed. "Whatever do you mean? I know not the meaning of this word."

She laughed too. "Nathan, it's not wise to prove you're not stupid by declaring that you don't know what the word stupid means."

"Mmm, yes, good point. Go on."

"Do not swear, do not talk about sex--which involved sub-topics such as panties, breasts and handcuffs--Do not share your bodily functions. Do not share your bodily functions STORIES. Do not touch anyone. Do not touch yourself. Do NOT--""

A grin broke out across his impish face. "I think I understand. Basically, just act like a robot?"

"Yes, but don't make any robot sound effects."

"Can I do the robot dance?"

"Absolutely not."

"Okay." He sighed. "I guess I'll have to follow you around for a while with a pencil and a notebook."

"Uh, no. Why?"

"Well, I need to know how a real android acts."

She grumbled. "Poor Dad."

__

"What?" he laughed. "I'm _charming."_

"Oh no, for the love of Pete, do _not_ inflict your parody of charm on this woman and her children."


End file.
